


Hold

by seratonation



Series: Shelter [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gunplay, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seratonation/pseuds/seratonation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bruce rolls his eyes. “Come on, Cupid, we do this and I’ll let you both take me to the range.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Clint’s eyes widen, and then narrow again. “I’m going to hold you to that.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Bruce suddenly smirks at him. “You can hold me to a lot of things when we get home.”</i>
</p>
<p> Clint holds Bruce to his promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written PWP in months and months, so obviously my comeback includes a threesome and a gun /o\\. I hope you like it!

“Alright,” Clint said, handing a gun to Bruce, “show me what you got.”

“Is this really necessary?” Bruce said taking the gun from him anyway.

“I need to know your level before I could begin to teach you,” Clint said, standing back and crossing his arms. 

“I already know what I’m doing,” Bruce said, “you said yourself: Nat is the best there is.”

“Can't let those skills get rusty,” Tony said walking in behind them, carrying in drinks and what looked like half a store in junk food. 

“Oh it's a party is it? Bruce asked, smiling in spite of himself.

Tony grinned back at him. “I really hope so,” he said, putting everything down on the couch in the back before sitting down on the couch arm.

Bruce sighed, then loaded the gun, aimed, taking a second to get his bearing and let off three successive shots.

“Fuck,” Tony said under his breath, “have you always been this good?”

“Right?” Clint said, eyes bright.

“It’s not really a big deal,” Bruce said, putting the gun down and stepping away, “you’re both probably just as good, if not better.”

Tony opened a soda can, took a swallow and sauntered past Bruce, picking the gun up and taking the position. 

“Ready?” He smirked at them, then took aim and shot three of his own shots. They peered out from behind him and Clint let out a whistle. “Yes,” Tony said to the unasked question, “I actually _have_ always been this good.”

“That’s-” Clint started, “I think you’re better than me.”

"I actually grew up around these," he said, and smirked at Clint. “Would you like me to show you some pointers?” 

Clint practically leered before taking the gun from Tony and stood to aim. 

“No, no,” Tony said, “it’s not a bow, why is this arm all the way over here?” He stepped in behind Clint, and repositioned his arm. “Like this,” he said. He curled his hand around Clint’s, and squeezed the trigger.

Clint held his ground but they both felt Bruce jump. “You need to relax, Bruce,” Tony said, his lips just by Clint’s ear. 

“You say that like it’s so easy,” Bruce said, watching them shift against each other, almost unintentionally. Almost.

“I have an idea to help him,” Tony said to Clint, “you with me on this?”

Clint nodded, so Tony let him go and crooked a finger at Bruce. “Come here.”

“I’m not sure I want to,” Bruce said.

“Oh, you want to,” Tony said, “believe me on this one.”

Bruce pushed away from the table he was leaning on and came to stand in front of the booth, picking the gun up again. 

“Clint,” Tony said, coming to stand in front of Bruce, one arm crossed and the other hand on his chin, “show Bruce how to stand.”

“My pleasure,” Clint said, and even though Bruce couldn't see it he could hear the smirk in his voice. He came up behind Bruce, ran his hands down Bruce’s sides and came to rest on his hips, then one foot pushed Bruce’s feet apart. “Feet level with your shoulders, more stable that way.” 

Bruce had to close his eyes for a moment at the tone of Clint’s voice. “Tony, I don't know how this is going to help,” he said, opening his eyes to find Tony right in front of him.

“Shhh,” he said, moving into Bruce’s space, and when Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow at him, Tony only raised an amused one in return. 

“Just relax,” Tony said, and leaned in and kissed him, slowly, carefully. When Clint pressed his lips to Bruce’s neck, just below his ear, Bruce gasped.

Tony moved on, down Bruce’s throat, and to his collar bone, undoing his shirt along the way. “I don’t-”

“Shhh,” Clint whispered, taking Bruce’s hands and bringing them up, as Tony made his way down Bruce’s stomach, “are you relaxed?”

“No,” Bruce said, his voice shaking. 

“Aim,” Clint said, as Tony undid Bruce’s pants. 

Bruce’s hands shook, but he managed to wrap his hand around the gun. Now Tony’s mouth was on him, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and lean back into Clint, who, Bruce could tell, was enjoying this as much as he was. 

“Aim,” Clint repeated. Bruce put all of his focus on the gun on his hand, on the target in the distance, but he was too tense, his hands shaking

“I can’t,” he said, blinking and looking away from the target.

“Yes,” Clint said, “you can, breathe, relax, focus.”

A moan escaped his lips as Tony did something with his tongue. “It’s really not fair,” he said, not looking down, “that your mouth is actually that talented.”

“Bruce,” Clint whispered into his neck, “focus.”

“Clint,” he whimpered, “T-Tony.”

“Fire.”

Bruce squeezed the trigger, once, twice, three times before he had to stop, dropping a hand down to Tony’s head, burying his fingers in Tony’s hair. He closed his eyes and leaned back so Clint was taking his whole weight. Clint ran his lips down Bruce’s now exposed neck, just soft butterfly kisses that ended at his collar bones before pushing aside his shirt to continue along his shoulder. 

Bruce had to put down the gun down so he could throw his arm around to touch Clint, to encourage him. “Harder,” he muttered, turning his head slightly to face Clint, “stop teasing.”

He felt Clint smirk against his collarbone before he bit it, just light nips before he kissed it, but they got harder with each successive bite, and as if on cue, Tony upped the ante, fighting for his attention, scraping his teeth against the head before doing that thing with his tongue again.

He knew he was close, felt it in his spine and in the pit of his stomach, his nerves on end. “Guys,” he tried to warn them, “Tony-”

“It’s okay,” Clint said, “do it, I want to taste you in his mouth when I kiss him.”

Tony hummed in approval as Bruce let out a high keen, digging his fingers into Tony’s skull, probably hard enough to hurt but unable to do anything as he came into Tony’s mouth.

When it was over, and his vision started to clear, he slowly, slowly, tried to untangle himself. His shirt was hanging off his elbows and his pants were around his thighs, but Clint’s hands were subconsciously running up and down his hips, and he was sandwiched between Clint and Tony, who were kissing like their life depended on it. 

“That was the worst focusing exercise,” Bruce said faintly. 

Clint laughed against Tony’s mouth. “Didn’t really work did it?” 

“No,” Tony said, nuzzling behind Bruce’s ear, “I wonder why.”

“We might have to repeat the experiment,” Bruce said, “to make sure the results are consistent.”

“Tomorrow,” Clint said, shifting slightly, “right now we have more pressing matters.”

“I can take care of that,” Bruce said, smiling.

Tony grinned back. “I have an idea,” he said, and led them up the bedroom.


End file.
